


No sugar

by ViolettaMondarev



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, M/M, Yuletide Spark Exchange 2017, coffee shop AU, college stress, controlling parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaMondarev/pseuds/ViolettaMondarev
Summary: Coffee shop AU - Gil is an overworked, sleep-deprived college student in urgent need of caffeine. What else is new.





	No sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destiny919](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destiny919/gifts).



> For destiny919, for spark_exchange 2017. I hope you enjoy it!

Gil was barely registering where he was when he pushed the door. Mainly he got there by scent. Sweet, rich coffee scent; the safe haven of the student who had pulled yet another all-nighter. He dropped on a chair and mumbled: “One chestnut praline latte with three sugars and extra cream.”

“I think you’re looking for Starbucks,” a voice answered. The tone made the room temperature drop by several degrees.

Gil looked up and blinked. Coffee tables, yes. Coffee beans, yes. And a barista too, but no green logo. Oh.

Oh.

“You're not Starbucks,” he said. Jeez, he really needed some sleep.

“Certainly not,” the barista answered, as if the very idea was offensive. “And I don’t sell ‘chestnut praline latte’.”

“Hum. Ok. Hum. Just a latte, then?” Gil said, rubbing his eyes.

The barista turned around without a word and prepared Gil’s order. His hair was a deep red shade, Gil noted. Almost as red as Starbuck’s holiday cups, but he would probably get shot if he said that out loud.

This definitely wasn’t any kind of chain. The coffee shop was small and cozy. It had been furnished with taste, but not with much money. There was a bookcase in a corner filled with novels and old fairy tales collections. There were no muffins in sight; instead, an assortment of biscuits was waiting on a plate, next to a big and very appealing chocolate cake. Gil was the only customer in sight. He looked again at the barista and wondered if he was the owner.

His latte arrived on his table and Gil looked up.

“Sugar?” he asked.

The barista raised an eyebrow at him.

“No sugar.”

“What? But it’s a coffee shop. You’re supposed to have sugar.”

“My coffee is perfect on its own,” the barista replied, unfazed. “It doesn’t need sugar.”

“But I do,” Gil whined.

“Get over it. Or got to Starbucks.”

Gil watched the guy walk away. What an arrogant bastard. No wonder the place was empty. Who was he to decide how his customers had to drink their coffee? Gil considered taking him at his word and just going to goddamn Starbucks, but he was exhausted and not exactly on time for classes, and he really needed some caffeine right now.

He sipped at his latte.

It was delicious.

It tasted sharp and full of aroma, rich and subtle. It was… it was the best coffee he’d ever had. Gil stared at the barista, who was pointedly cleaning up an already perfectly clean mug, his back to him. Gil wanted to ask, although he wasn’t sure how. He couldn’t very well accuse him of being some weird coffee wizard in disguise.

He took his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. Oh, shit. He was even later than he thought. “Sorry, have to go,” he yelled. He threw money at the table and took off. He looked at the shop name, to remember it.

“Spark Roast”. What a weird name.

* * *

Gil was caught in a haze of books, research assignments and sleep deprivation all week. He forgot about the weird no-sugar-policy coffee shop until Saturday, when his own coffee machine gave up. He had a lot of work to do and nothing much in his fridge. The sudden absence of coffee on top of all that made his 15 square meters’ room very unattractive. After an unsuccessful attempt at resurrecting the damn coffee machine, Gil decided to pack. He gathered his research material and headed off towards lattes and cakes.

As Gil pushed the door of the Spark Roast, the redheaded barista stared at him through his glasses. Gil felt like his clothes, his hair, his backpack full of study books and his right to exist in this universe underwent judgment by the competent authorities.

“Hi,” he tried.

“Did you get lost on your way to Starbucks again? Turn left, it’s two blocks away.”

“No,” Gil said. “I’d like a latte. And cake. Please.”

“Cake.”

“Yes,” Gil said. “Cake.”

Had he offended the guy somehow? His memories of their first encounter were a bit fuzzy, he’d been practically sleepwalking. He remembered distinctly the intense taste of sugarless coffee. He had no idea what he’d said. The wrong thing, he was sure. The balance of probability leaned towards Gil inadvertently sputtering some mortal insult or other. It was a natural talent of his. If this were still the seventeenth century, he’d be dueling people all day. Was he banned now?

The barista nodded and gestured towards a table, having apparently decided that Gil was worthy of eating cake on the premises, after all. Gil let himself fall in a comfortable armchair and unpacked his laptop with a sigh of satisfaction.

He buried himself in his work. Customers came and went, but Gil didn’t pay them any attention. From time to time, he’d look up to find a cup or a plate had materialized. It was always empty too quickly and tasted delicious. The sugar ban, he found out, only applied to the coffee. The cakes and biscuits had appropriate amounts of it. He was almost done with Dr. Brand's _One Hundred and Eighty Tips for an Interesting Dissection_  when a plate showed up which, shockingly, did not contain any chocolate whatsoever.

“What is that?” he said.

“That’s an omelet,” the haughty jerk told him. “With eggs, mushroom, and potatoes. Ever heard of those?”

“I know what an omelet is. I didn’t order any.”

“You should have,” the barista retorted. “You’ve been here for six hours. You can’t feed exclusively off cakes.”

“I don’t see why not,” Gil said defensively.

“Eat your omelet.”

The tone was so final, and the food smelled so good, that Gil did not find any way to object. He ate his omelet. He looked at the barista now and then, when he was busy with something else and unlikely to notice.

He was young, maybe about Gil’s age. Good-looking too, especially when he smiled, which he did a lot, to everybody else.

Gil had definitely offended him.

Whatever. The man was such a git. It was like he didn’t know baristas were supposed to take orders rather than give them.

* * *

The following week, there was an incident involving a beehive, an escaped monkey and the fifth tome of the _Companion Encyclopedia of the History of Medicine_ that led to Gil’s temporary expulsion from the university library. It was a harsh punishment only two weeks from the finals. He explained the entire unfortunate chain of events to Colette, who was a good friend and almost didn’t laugh.

“He threatened to write to my father, you know,” Gil added. That sobered her up. Colette knew, on a visceral level, about the dread of somebody writing to your father. She knew about having to carry this huge weight all the bloody time, this bottomless bag full of somebody else’s expectations, opinions, moods, and never being allowed to forget about it for an instant. She knew.

“Just lie low for a while,” she told him, patting his shoulder. “Professor Brillantin will forget about it soon enough. I’ll borrow for you the books you need, and you can study at home.”

“I don’t want to stay home,” Gil whined. “It’s depressing.”

“Why don’t you go to that coffee house you told me about? It sounds nice.”

“The barista is a snob who won’t give me sugar and doesn’t like me,” Gil pointed out.

“I don’t think this is an accurate assessment of the situation,” Colette replied with an amused smile. “And you like his sugar-free coffee.”

That last part, at least, was true. And Gil’s rooms were small, lonely and cake-free, so he ended up following Colette’s advice, drifting to the Spark Roast almost every day. He worked there until the red-haired barista kicked him out at closing time. The semester finals were approaching. Gil kept trying to pack more and more knowledge in his head until he dreamed about it at night and woke up in a sweat trying to diagnose some weird condition his brain had fabricated. He felt like he was slowly losing his sanity.

Still, he managed to find out the barista was called Tarvek, had a sharp sense of humor, and roasted his own coffee. He was also quite good at making omelets, sandwiches and quiches, although Gil wasn’t sure why he kept getting them when he had clearly ordered cake. Perhaps it was Tarvek’s way to annoy him. He sure seemed to enjoy nagging. But Gil was addicted to his coffee now. He was doomed to endure it.

By Friday, he was so exhausted he could barely look straight when he pushed the door and collapsed on his armchair.

“Hi. Latte please,” he moaned to the universe in general.

Tarvek came out from behind the counter, and looked at Gil with a raised eyebrow. Gil knew that expression, by know. It was Tarvek’s Stern Disapproval face. He used it a lot on Gil.

“I don’t know if I can responsibly give you more caffeine,” Tarvek told him. “It would be embarrassing if you dropped dead on the carpet.”

“If you don’t I’m going to fall asleep right here,” Gil said, unpacking his laptop and his books. “That’d also be embarrassing.”

Tarvek grabbed a book from Gil’s table and looked at it.

“I cannot believe that you are going to become a doctor of medicine. It feels quite insane to let you in charge of anybody’s health, given what you do with your own.”

“Don’t come to me if you catch scarlet fever,” Gil said, taking his book back with a glare. “I’ll just let you suffer.”

“Did you skip the class on diet? And I think you should reread the chapter on sleep. You might have overlooked the subsection “cognitive impairment”.”

“I’m different,” Gil informed him with a yawn. “You just need balance and meditation, and…” he yawned again. “What was I saying?”

“Nothing relevant,” Tarvek said. There was a smirk on his lips, like it was a joke he was the only one to understand. Gil was too tired to work it out.

“Oh. Good.” He couldn’t suppress another yawn. The book slipped from his hand, but Tarvek caught it, so Gil decided not to worry about it and closed his eyes. Just a minute. To rest them a little.

* * *

Gil woke up under several layers of blankets. He felt more rested than he’d been in days (weeks?). He was still in his armchair (yes, it was his now. Nobody ever was early enough to claim it before him. Hah.). Tarvek was at the next table, surrounded by paperwork. Gil thought of greeting him, but failed to say the words. Instead, he stayed still, just looking at him.

That wasn’t a very healthy hobby, Gil thought to himself, staring at Tarvek while he was unaware. But he couldn’t help it. He liked when Tarvek was unguarded, caught up in his work and alight with interest. It was his eyes. There was an intensity there, something Gil remembered having once, but didn’t know how to get back.

Tarvek looked up, met Gil’s eyes, and smiled at him. Gil’s heart metaphorically tripped on its own feet.

“You’re awake,” Tarvek said.

“Hum,” Gil answered, “yeah.” Words. How did words work? He used to know how words worked. “Er. What time is it?”

“Ten. You slept all day.”

Ugh. One hour past closing time? Gil felt the constant, low-key anxiety settle back in his stomach. It had barely been gone five minutes and he had not missed it.

“I didn’t study,” he said out loud. An entire day gone. What was he going to do? He had to review his entire study plan, see where he could cram more…

“You rested,” Tarvek told him with a sigh. “I don’t know what they teach you at medical school, but last time I checked, sleep wasn’t optional.”

“My finals are in a week,” Gil whispered.

“Gil, you can’t pass your finals if you fry your brain first. I’m fairly sure you’ll need it to be functional.”

Gil glared at Tarvek. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who still needs to memorize the entirety of Dr. Mezzasalma’s _Extended Surgery Notes_ by next Monday.”

Tarvek had an amused smile. Gil’s heart wasn’t prepared for that event to repeat and fell over itself again.

“Colette is convinced you’ll pass easily,” Tarvek said, “and she looks like she knows what she’s talking about.”

“You know Colette?” Gil asked, worried. He didn’t like the idea of those two uniting against him. Tarvek rested his chin on his hand, directing a far too perceptive stare at him.

“She came by today, looking for you. She’s responsible for blanket number two. You’re changing the subject rather than offering denials and demonstrations of humility. You know she’s right. Don’t you?”

Gil sighed and stared at the ceiling.

“I can’t just pass. I need to be first.”

“Really? Why?”

Why? Because he’d always been first. Because everybody waited for him to be first. Because if he wasn’t first, nobody would say a word, but there would be quiet disappointed looks. And once that happened, Gil feared the entire foolish façade would fall apart, and everyone, including himself, would start seeing how misplaced their expectations were.

Gil wasn’t sure where that would leave him. At the bottom of that well of anxiety inside him, maybe.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

“Try me.”

Gil shook his head. “You’ve got your life figured out. That must be nice.”

Tarvek scoffed. “You think my life is easy? Try it for a week. I wake up at five every morning. I work fourteen hours a day, six days a week. You worry about your finals? Try worrying about how to pay your rent and your suppliers every month. It’s not like I can afford to fail. I invested every cent I own in this thing,” he said, gesturing at the room. “If I bankrupt this place, I won’t even own the clothes I’m wearing.”

Gil couldn’t hide a smile. “And yet you chide customers who want sugar with their coffee.”

Tarvek frowned at him. “There’s no point in doing this if I can’t do it properly. There are ways to add to the taste of coffee, but sugar isn’t one of them. It alters the flavor beyond recognition. It ruins it. If coffee is so bitter that it needs sugar, then it’s bad coffee.”

“So everybody else’s coffee is too bitter?” Gil asked. He’d wondered before. Tarvek’s coffee _was_ special; not very different, but richer and softer. Was he using some unusual ingredient? Did he have a secret handed to him by generations of jealous coffee makers?

“Yes,” Tarvek told him. “Because most people who roast coffee are white morons who learned from other white morons, who never knew what to do with a coffee bean to start with. They don’t roast the beans, they burn them. Old colonialist tradition. They destroy most of the aroma in the process.”

Well. Gil had obviously touched a nerve.

“It’s a tragedy,” he said, amused.

“It is,” Tarvek replied seriously. “They buy good coffee for ridiculously low prices from people who will barely make enough to survive, only to mishandle it like bloody amateurs. Then people feel compelled to water it down and fill it with sugar and syrups to hide how bad it is. Yet they pay a fortune to the very idiots who messed it up in the first place. Said idiots pocket most of the profits, while only very little goes back to the producers. It’s a tragedy of exploitation, ignorance and incompetence. It’s disgraceful.”

Gil opened his mouth, and closed it again. He hadn’t expected an innocent sugar-related question to get so political on him. He’d never really thought much about coffee, aside from its stimulant properties. He’d always taken it for granted.

“So where did you learn to roast coffee? What’s your secret?”

“It’s no secret,” Tarvek said, laughing. “It’s not even complicated. Anybody who is willing can learn it. I went to Tanzania. I was taught by the person who sells me coffee beans. He likes me because I pay better than stock market prices, and because I don’t ruin his coffee. He sends me his best beans. It’s mutually profitable.”

“Tanzania,” Gil said absently. “Sounds like fun.”

“It was.” Tarvek stood up, walked to his counter and made a latte. These days, Gil barely needed to place an order. He’d just look in the distance thinking of coffee, and a cup would eventually appear within reach.

“Thanks,” he said when Tarvek gave him the warm cup. He sipped at it slowly, with a new respect for the work that had gone into making it.

Tanzania…

“Did you always plan on running a coffee shop?” he asked.

Tarvek had a burst of nervous laughter. “Hell, no. What about you?”

Gil took note that Tarvek didn’t elaborate. He almost pushed, but decided to let it go.

“I always knew I’d be a doctor, yeah.”

Tarvek looked at him. “Most people say ‘I always wanted to’”.

Gil shrugged.

“I want to be a doctor. But I knew I’d be one before I wanted it.”

Not that it would have made a difference if he hadn’t. Some people got to choose their path in life. Gil wasn’t one of them.

* * *

The finals came and went, for better or worse. After the last one, Gil collapsed on his bed and slept three days in a row. He emerged a little happier, and more relaxed than he’d been in months. It was early morning, still dark outside, but he wanted some fresh air and decided to head out anyway. The Spark Roast might already be open.

When he pushed the door of the coffee shop, Tarvek was in a conversation with a customer at the counter. Or was he a customer? Tarvek’s expression was closed, even hostile, and the man’s hair were the same shade of red as his own. He was wearing a brown suit, tailored, expensive. Gil had learned to distrust expensive suits.

“You have to consider…” the man said.

“I don’t think I do, no,” Tarvek hissed. His voice was low and angry.

“You are wasting an opportunity that might not come again, my boy.” The man’s tone was soft in the most obnoxious, condescending manner. He was waving a stack of papers towards Tarvek, who was pointedly ignoring it.

Usually, Gil would go straight to his favourite armchair. This time he walked towards the counter, pretending to examine the cakes, as if he didn’t know the menu by heart.

“Then I’m sure you will all be very sorry for me,” Tarvek said. “Now leave.”

“You need time to think this through. I understand,” the man said, shaking his head.

“I really don’t. I said no. Leave.”

“Now, there is no need to be rude, lad, I’m only trying…” then he moved to touch Tarvek’s shoulder, and before Gil could even think, he was holding the man’s wrist.

“May I help you, sir?” he said. He smiled, the kind of smile that bares just enough teeth to suggest biting.

“What?” the man squeaked. “Who are you? Unhand me!” he tried to pull away. Gil did not let go. He might not have trained much lately, but his grip was still quite hard to break, even for a strong man, and this one was not.

“No, no,” Gil said slowly, still grinning. “I must help you. You have been asked to leave twice already, and yet you are still here. I can only assume you got lost on your way to the door. I will assist you.” He put his other hand on the shoulder of Tarvek’s visitor and effortlessly pivoted him towards the exit.

“But…” the man tried to protest. Gil, just behind him, bent to speak right at his ear. “It’s just over there,” he said in his favorite unhinged tone. “Can you see it?”

To his credit, the man didn’t whimper. At this stage, most people did.

“Shall I escort you there, or do you think you can reach it on your own?”

Then he let go. The man left as fast as he could while pretending he wasn’t running. “Don’t thank me!” Gil called behind him. “I just love to help my fellow man!”

Tarvek sniggered behind him. Gil turned around and saw him, elbows on the counter, watching him with a rueful smile, his ponytail falling on his shoulder.

“Nicely done,” Tarvek said. Gil tried to will himself into not blushing.

“The trick is to let them wonder exactly how deranged you are,” he said. “Sorry to barge in, he seemed annoying.”

“If he comes back, I guess I can always hire you as a bouncer.”

“Good idea. You can pay me in lattes.”

Tarvek responded to the suggestion by making one right away, and declaring it was on the house. He didn’t explain what the unpleasant fellow had wanted from him, or why their hair had such a similar shade. Gil didn’t ask. He sipped at his coffee, sitting at the counter. He had nothing else to do that day, so he just sat there and drank lazily for hours, enjoying the lack of essays to write and the places were Tarvek’s shirt slipped around his neck. Clavicle and jugular and supraclavicular fossa, Gil knew all the fancy names for every muscle and bone, but there was too much fabric in the way hiding the pale skin. If only he could push it out of the way, he’d be happy to review the entire content of his anatomy class.

* * *

The main problem with Christmas break was that everyone kept asking the same question.

“So what will you do for Christmas?” Zeetha asked over Skype. She was holding her smartphone unsteadily while walking in the street, the image was so shaky Gil wondered how he wasn’t seasick. That girl could never stay still for a minute.

“Not sure yet,” Gil told her, which was almost true.

She rolled her eyes at him. Gil’s evasion tactics were worthless with his twin. She knew him far too well. “Are you going home, yes or no?”

“I don’t know,” Gil sighed. “It’s not like I have something better to do, but, you know…”

Zeetha was going to stay in France at their mum’s, which Gil couldn’t do because it was too far and he had too much to do, and one-on-one dinners with Klaus Wulfenbach were… well. He wasn’t exactly the most christmasy person ever. They’d end up talking about his work all evening again, with three-thirds of the conversation serving as a roundabout way to assess Gil’s judgment and abilities. Anyway, Klaus would probably have an emergency or other and call dinner off at the last minute. Which on one hand would be a relief, but on the other hand would make Gil feel like he was barely more important than the chair he was sitting on.

All around, a lose-lose scenario.

“Jeez, Gil! I wish you two would just talk to each other. Like a real, actual conversation, not this weird smart-ass dance you keep doing.”

“I don’t make the rules of that game,” Gil told her.

“You don’t have to _play_ his game!”

Gil breathed in to throw some righteous rage at his traitorous twin, but she didn’t let him place a word.

“No, you don’t! You can be honest, you can tell him how you feel, you can tell him what you want!”

“You don’t understand,” he said, lips tight.

“You’re right, I don’t,” replied his crazy sibling who had always known what she wanted from the minute she was born.

“Have fun in Paris, Zeetha.”

“Wait, I wasn’t done…” Gil slapped the laptop closed, exasperated with his sister and with himself. He grabbed his smartphone, opened his father’s calendar invitation with the title “Christmas Eve – dinner” and selected “Decline”.

* * *

“So what did you tell your father?” Colette asked, a double espresso in her hand.

“That I have work to do. He never argues with work.”

“You’re going to stay here? Alone?”

Gil shrugged. It was a bit depressing to think about when he was sitting in his room with his pathetic extra-small plastic Christmas tree. It didn’t feel bad here, surrounded by big windows, comfortable cushions and the smell of freshly roasted coffee. There was a properly sized Christmas tree in the corner near the door. Tarvek had spread tiny glittering silver stars on the counter and the bookcase. Tinsels were hanging from the ceiling.

No mistletoe, sadly.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just eat Chinese or something, it’ll be fine. What about you?”

“I’m going to Anne’s,” Colette said, cringing. “It’s her turn.”

“Which one was Anne?” Gil asked. Colette had so many siblings it was hard to keep track.

“The obnoxious one.”

“Not helping.”

“I know,” she said, throwing her face in her palms. “And they’ll all be there. Even Charles-Antoine. How am I supposed to get through the holidays without murdering anybody?”

“Wouldn’t know about that,” Gil said, grinning, “but if you want some help with a body, you can always count on me.”

“I’d trust you with making bodies appear, not so much with making them disappear,” she told him with an amused smile. Gil chuckled.

“That’s probably wiser,” Tarvek said as he placed two slices of cheesecake on the table. “And you can always come to me instead. I do have a big kitchen.”

“Should I be concerned about what’s in your cakes?” Gil asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not as long as you behave,” Tarvek said pointedly.

Gil watched him walk back to the counter, his gaze lingering on Tarvek’s shoulders. When he turned back to his latte, Colette was biting her lower lip, a dangerous light in her eyes.

“What?” Gil asked.

“Sooooooo. You like the cute barista?”

Gil was an adult. Adults did not blush like schoolboys. Adults had composure and stuff.

“I. Huh. I mean. Possibly?” Gil was totally failing at this adulting thing.

“Will you ask him out?”

“Don’t you think I have more important things to worry about?” Gil grumbled, starring at his feet.

“No.”

“It won’t work!” Gil whispered with a sideway glance towards Tarvek. “I will make a mess of it. I always make a mess of it. You know I do.”

Colette sighed. She knew alright.

“I’m not telling you to send him truckloads of roses, just… let him know? Maybe flirt just a little a bit?”

“How do I flirt a little bit? Is there a book on flirting?” Gil asked her. “With references and examples? Does it have a chapter on the difference between ‘flirting a little bit’ and your standard, average flirting?”

Colette patted his arm.

“We’ll work something out.”

* * *

Thankfully, Colette had to leave for Christmas, and her matchmaking plans had to be postponed. Gil didn’t really know how to handle romance stuff. It was a weird dance full of unwritten rules people apparently knew about without ever having to learn them. Like they were born with inbuilt features that Gil’s designer had forgotten to include. Gil couldn’t make a step without breaking one of those rules, and then people were offended or they freaked out, and everything was ruined. He was happy to hang out in the Spark Roast, to drink Tarvek’s coffee and enjoy his snarky humor. He didn’t want to lose any of that.

Although, to be completely honest with himself, he was daydreaming about a great deal more than that. On balance, it might be worth taking a few risks.

He kept spending almost every day at the coffee shop, only he now often left his study books at home and brought a novel instead, or borrowed one from Tarvek’s bookcase. It was a surprisingly good selection, even though Gil didn’t share Tarvek’s enthusiasm for ancient tales. He preferred adventure novels.

“How can you read those all the time?” Tarvek asked him once, after finding him engrossed in the fifth installment of a series about two heroic brothers and their comic relief sidekick. “It’s always the same story. They just switch the villain. And sometimes they don’t even bother with that. That evil blonde woman who keeps turning people into frogs is completely cliché and of course the young hero is in love with her and conflicted about it. And of course he always happens to conveniently lose his shirt when she’s around. I expect he’ll start redeeming her with the power of love and well-built biceps around the tenth volume. It’s completely predictable!”

“But that’s what’s so good about it,” Gil retorted. “I know what to expect, it ends well, it’s satisfying, and it’s funny. If you had recently memorized every detail about two hundred and seventy seven different horrible diseases that can kill you slowly and painfully, I’m pretty sure you’d appreciate them too.”

“Yes,” Tarvek said in a tone of exaggerated concern. “You’re a workaholic, it’s tragic. But please don’t switch off all cognitive functions. There are better ways to deal with your issues. Brain death isn’t the solution.”

Gil threw the book at his face. Tarvek sidestepped and caught it with his free hand, without making a single cup on his heavy tray as much as shiver. Gil grinned, impressed, and proceeded to hunt him to get his book back. It took quite a while longer than it normally should have. His mother would have kicked him with a broom while yelling “no flirting,” and he felt a bit embarrassed with himself for enjoying it so much.

For some reason, the next volume of the series appeared in the bookcase a few days later. When Gil found it, he felt excited, terrified, and a little more in love than he was before. If only he knew about these things, about subtext and hidden messages. If only he could tell ‘Oh, that means he’s interested in me,’ or ‘He wants to be friends,’ or even ‘Ha, no, he’s just being nice to a good customer.’ If he knew for sure, he wouldn’t have to deal with those waves of hope and doubt.

* * *

Christmas Eve arrived, and the city died out. Gil had never noticed it before, how quiet that day was when you weren’t at home with your family. Even the busiest streets were almost completely empty. The shops were closed. There was a strange kind of silence, all the usual background noise of cars and voices absent. In a way, it was fascinating, like a zombie apocalypse had just stricken and those two people hurrying around the corner were the last survivors trying to escape.

Gil walked around for a while, relaxing in this blanket of nothingness. He liked being around people, mostly. At some point he had liked a noisy Christmas with family as much as anybody else, but that had been before – before his mother left, before his father’s election – when he still spent all his time in his lab, made groundbreaking discoveries and was happy most days. When Gil still got breaks from people “preparing him for his future”.

He loved his family, he really did. He missed them when they weren’t there. It was just that being around them was exhausting.

He turned around a corner, and saw the Spark Roast, all its lights on. That was weird. Gil walked to the door. He could see Tarvek behind the counter, putting cups in a cupboard. Was he… working? Alone? On Christmas Eve? Surely not for the endless stream of non-existing customers, so. Why? Unable to stop himself, Gil pushed the door. Tarvek turned around and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hi,” Gil said. “I was just. Er. In the area, and. Are you actually opened?”

He didn’t say _why_ , he didn’t say _don’t you have anything better to do on Christmas Eve_ , he didn’t say _why aren’t you with your family eating ginger bread_ , because really there was no good reason to ask any of those questions.

“Not technically opened, no,” Tarvek said. “Just waiting for someone.”

“Oh,” Gil said. Someone. Huh. He had to excuse himself and leave. That was the polite thing to do. Tarvek was expecting company, and Gil was just standing there in the way like…

“Do you want some coffee?”

Gil blinked at Tarvek. “You just said you’re not opened.”

“I’m not,” Tarvek said with a thin smile. “I’ve also been known to offer hot beverages in my free time.”

Gil fought back the blush threatening to creep its way to his face. Tarvek was offering him coffee. Not the business sort, but the personal sort. Gil was invited to enter, on Christmas Eve, even if he wasn’t sure for how long or how much.

“But,” he said, “what about that person you’re expecting?”

“Yeah, Violetta, my cousin. She won’t mind. And she won’t be there for another hour at least, so she doesn’t get a vote.” Oh, Gil thought. Cousin. Right. Hahaha. He knew that. He hadn’t been worried at all. Tarvek was already pressing buttons on his enormous coffee machine, and Gil figured, if he was already making a coffee it would be terribly rude not to drink it. Gil entered and sat at the counter, where Tarvek soon placed a latte and an espresso.

“What about you?” he asked. “Not working yourself to exhaustion tonight?”

“Will you let it go,” Gil said, frowning. “I haven’t done that for two entire weeks.”

“Why, yes, of course, my apologies,” Tarvek said, his chin propped on his hand. “But I know you must be going through detox. I’m told the withdrawal can be tough. And with Colette off with her family, well. You can’t blame me for worrying.”

“You are such an insufferable git,” Gil retorted, throwing a paper napkin at his nose. “How dare you complain about my workaholic habits when you make such a profit off it? You’re practically my dealer.”

“I only sell the caffeine,” Tarvek objected. “The insanity is yours entirely. I’m merely giving you the hot drinks you need to cope with it. And you shouldn’t call people names when you live off their omelets,” he added with a smirk.

“I don’t live off your omelets, I live off your cakes.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“Which reminds me,” Gil said, looking around for the aforementioned cakes.

“You’re confused,” Tarvek told him with a haughty look. “This is private coffee. You don’t get to order cake. You eat what I gracefully offer you.”

“As usual then,” Gil chuckled. And maybe he dreamed it, but he could have sworn Tarvek’s cheeks turned a little red.

“There will be cake if you behave,” Tarvek said, moving away from the counter. “I need to check the oven.”

“Oh. Hum. Anything I can help you with?” Gil said, vaguely trying to remember how to behave like a proper guest.

“Certainly not,” Tarvek said sharply. “But you can come if you swear not to touch anything.”

“On my life and honor,” Gil said, a hand on his heart, and followed him in the kitchen.

Gil only knew enough about cooking to avoid instant noodles overdose. He could boil stuff in water and throw stuff in a pan, and occasionally put stuff in the oven, usually a frozen pizza. Then it all went down to whether or not he managed to get the thing out of the thing before all of it was burnt. “Not burnt” was the very definition of culinary achievement as far as he was concerned. He was happy enough to watch Tarvek without the risk to destroy anything.

The kitchen wasn’t that big, but it was neat and clean, organized meticulously. Tarvek took a turkey out of the oven, then started cutting it and preparing the sauce. He looked in his element in there, quick but not frantic, just efficient. He was captivating in a way no still image could render. Gil couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He was almost consumed with the desire to touch, to feel Tarvek’s skin and hair between his fingers.

Tarvek brought the turkey to the table, then set the table for three. “Shouldn’t we wait for that cousin of yours?” Gil asked. He didn’t dare mention that he’d only been invited to drink a coffee, in case Tarvek had forgotten and decided to throw him out once he realized his mistake. Not that it was terribly likely, but –

“Oh, she won’t be here for another half hour,” Tarvek said with a dismissive gesture. “She usually storms out in the middle of the main course.”

“Storms out?” Gil asked.

“Our family dinners can be quite lively,” Tarvek said with a smirk. “And Violetta has a temper. She never manages to shut up long enough to reach the dessert.”

“And then she runs here? Wouldn’t it be better to just have dinner with you, then?”

Tarvek sighed. “It’s not that simple. I… well. Family stuff, you know. It can be complicated.”

Gil thought of all the conversations he’d failed to have with his father and nodded. Tarvek hadn’t asked at all why Gil had been wandering the streets alone on Christmas Eve. Which might be related to the fact that he wasn’t taking part to whatever family dinner his cousin was attending, for some reason.

“It’s delicious,” Gil said, swallowing his turkey. “And the last one I ate was in France, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you philistine.” Tarvek said, threatening Gil with his fork. But his cheeks were a little red, so he had to be at least a little pleased at the compliment.

That’s when the door crashed open. Gil jumped in his chair and turned around just in time to see a five foot tall ball of red-haired anger and rage enter the room.

“You WON’T BELIEVE what this asshole dared to say!” she yelled.

“You’re early,” Tarvek said without batting an eye. “Do you want Sauterne with your turkey?”

“What I WANT is a great big well to throw them all in and a ton of cement to burry them under. You got any of that on your menu today?”

“Wait until you’re financially independent. I’m not paying your tuition fees,” Tarvek replied unfazed, while serving her a glass of wine.

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” she told him after taking a generous sip. “I deserve to get out of this snake pit just as much as you do.”

“I waited until I had a plan,” Tarvek said, in what felt like a conversation they’d had many times. “You need a plan.”

Gil bit his lip and, this time, decided to ask. They were discussing it right in front of him, after all.

“You’re… not in good terms with your family, then?”

Tarvek looked at him and paused. Violetta rolled her eyes. “You haven’t told him. I can’t believe you haven’t told him. You are such a moron.”

“Shut up,” Tarvek told her, then turned to Gil and took a deep breath. “My father is a right-wing white supremacist politician who cannot deal with me, my sexuality or my opinions. Two years ago, I dropped out of law school and left his party. He disowned me.”

Gil felt the fork fall from his hand as this information clicked together.

“You,” he said before he could think. “You’re Aaronev Junior.”

“Do not call me that,” Tarvek said. There was something hard in his eyes, an expression Gil hadn’t seen on him before. “I don’t go around calling you Klaus Junior”.

A cold feeling settled inside Gil’s stomach. “How long have you known who I am?”

Tarvek pressed his lips together, hesitated, and shook his head. “Gil, your father is the state governor and is famous worldwide for curing three different deadly neurodegenerative diseases. Everyone knows who you are.”

“And knowing that, you didn’t think telling me _your_ name would be relevant?”

“Like I said, he is a moron,” Violetta commented between two forks of turkey.

“Not everything has to be about my father,” Tarvek snapped. “Or yours, for that matter!”

Gil stopped in his tracks. He leant back against his chair, rubbed his hands against his forehead. That was actually a fair point. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

“Tarvek is my middle name, and it’s the only one I use these days,” Tarvek added, his voice cold.

“I didn’t think. I just remembered the papers, and…”

“Yeah, I know what they call me,” Tarvek said.

“Nobody knew where you’d disappeared to,” Gil remembered. “They just said you were abroad.” His father’s team had loved the story of Aaronev Sturmvoraus’ prodigal son leaving his party and dropping out of college, because they loved everything that annoyed their nastiest political opponent. They’d collected all the articles and joked about it at every occasion for a month. Gil had felt a weird sort of fascination for it. It seemed so impossible, crazy and brilliant, to just shrug off your entire destiny and go do something else.

Tarvek took the bottle and refilled everybody’s glasses. “I traveled a bit. Long enough for those journos to forget my existence.”

“To Tanzania.”

“Among others.”

“I always wondered what had happened to you. I never imagined you opening a coffee shop.”

“Nobody did,” Violetta said. Gil looked at her. She was sipping at her wine with an amused glint in her eyes. Worryingly, Gil was reminded of Colette. Violetta turned to Tarvek. “I thought you’d just go ahead with law school, then secretly give away one of your father’s many embarrassing secrets to the papers, wait until he was under lock and key, then take over his party and run for Wulfenbach’s governor’s seat. And of course, somewhere down the line, world domination.”

“Well, obviously that was my initial plan,” Tarvek said with his most charming smile. Gil choked on his Sauterne.

“Then why don’t you tell us the whole story? Klaus Junior here wants to know, I can tell,” Violetta said, clearly enjoying herself.

Tarvek swatted her with a napkin. “Behave, or there will be no cake.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m your favorite cousin.”

“That’s a rather low bar.”

“Yeah, but your cake is worth it. Now stop stalling already. What changed your heart about world domination?”

Tarvek had a short glance for Gil, who glanced back, uncertain. There was little doubt that Aaronev had wanted his son to inherit his party of slavery-nostalgic assholes. Gil’s father himself had once said _the boy’s smarter than his father, we better keep an eye on him_.

“Nothing dramatic, unfortunately for your romantic soul,” Tarvek said. “I met new people. I checked my ideas against actual facts. I expanded my horizon. At some point, I realized my ambitions seemed big to me because I lived in a small universe. I was surrounded by narrow-minded people with a very limited understanding of the world they actually lived in and petty desires that added up to maintaining their selfish little privileges at the cost of everybody else. It was disgusting, and getting rid of my father would only make it marginally better. I wanted to do something that didn’t make me miserable. So I left.”

“And then your father ran to the papers and wept about what an ungrateful son you were,” Gil completed.

Tarvek shrugged. “I didn’t leave contact data behind, and it took him a while to find me, so at first he used the press to harass me. When that didn’t work, he sent private investigators, lawyers, and every friend of his he could think of after me. Then he calmed down for a while. He thought I’d come back home once the money ran out.”

“This guy the other day,” Gil growled.

Tarvek nodded. “Oh, yes. Uncle Julius. Also a lawyer. He tried to convince me to sell. My father probably realized I won’t go bankrupt as quickly as he’d hoped, by now.”

“All that just because you left law school? Because a coffee shop isn’t good enough for his heir?” Gil asked, his chest tight with anger and… something else he couldn’t name.

Tarvek gave him a look that was both a little fond and a little exasperated. Like Gil was being purposefully obtuse about something obvious. “It’s not about law school, or the coffee shop. I could have made him agree to both if I’d taken the time to beg and cajole. But I didn’t beg. I just did it. And that, he can’t bear. Me not asking permission. Me telling him no. It’s intolerable. So he’ll keep trying to make me miserable in every way he can think of until I go back home begging for forgiveness.”

“Because he owns you,” Gil said faintly.

“In his head he does, yes,” Tarvek said cheerfully. “Fortunately for me, reality disagrees with him. So, who wants cake?”

He went to get his chocolate cake from the kitchen, and Gil, who by now had located the most important cupboards, got the dessert plates. Violetta found another bottle of wine, which led to Tarvek complaining about how he could never keep his best bottles from her. Gil strongly suspected this was an act, since Violetta was served a generous slice of cake anyway.

Gil finished his plate in silence, wondering where Tarvek had learned how to bake, and how he had ever found the courage to decide that this was going to be his life, rather than the prestigious career everyone else had prepared for him. He had taken his own life back, at a steep price, but –

“You’re very quiet,” Tarvek said.

Gil looked up. “Just thinking… huh, where’s your cousin?”

Tarvek raised an eyebrow at him. “She left five minutes ago. She told you goodbye.”

“Oh. Really? I just thought she had something in her eye. She was winking a lot.”

“Hn,” Tarvek muttered. “She can be subtle, but only when she wants to.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Thinking? About what?”

Gil turned his fork between his fingers, unsure how to explain. He didn’t discuss it, not openly, not even with Colette. Not even with Zeetha, however hard she tried to start those conversations. But Tarvek – Tarvek already understood.

“I never told him no,” Gil said, his throat a little tight. “Not successfully, anyway. He’s been defining the entire scope of my life since I was three. I don’t think about it much, usually. I just go along with it, you know? He never wanted me to follow him into politics, thank God. He wants me to enter his lab after my doctorate, and I imagine, take it over one day, if I’m good enough. That’s why I’m going into neurology. It’s not that bad, I mean, why would I even complain about my life? I’ll never have to worry about college debt, I’m allowed to travel to Europe in the summer, he’s happy to indulge me if I’m reasonable, it’s a pretty easy life if you think of it, it’s just –“

“It doesn’t matter how much money he spends on you,” Tarvek told him. “It doesn’t give him those kind of rights. You’re not a thing. He can’t buy you. It’s your life.”

Gil stared stubbornly at his fork, because it was a convenient way not to look at Tarvek. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Every child is born dependent on his parents,” Tarvek said. “Every child is born knowing they need their parents to stay alive. But then they grow up, and one day they leave. From the start, his job was to make sure you got to the point where you don’t need him anymore. He did the reverse.”

Gil looked up. Tarvek was spinning his glass between his fingers, his gaze lost in the moving liquid inside it. “It took me a while to figure this one out,” Tarvek went on. “I thought what was going on in my household was normal. It’s not like anybody was hitting me, or anything. The difference to other families was more subtle. He was working very hard to keep me dependent, in hundreds of little ways. Like a toddler, in more useful.”

Tarvek drank his wine and met Gil’s eyes. “It’s not about medicine, it’s not about his lab, not directly. It’s not even about whether or not he loves you. It’s about whether he can or can’t control you. He wants to keep you on a leash, and he won’t let go unless you make him.”

Gil nodded. He knew that, on some level, but he’d never been able to put it in words like that. It was mixed up with too many feelings. “I’ve spent so much time trying to make him happy, proud, to make him look at me, I don’t know. I wanted his respect. I was never going to get it. I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. And you’re not his,” Tarvek said sharply.

Gil laughed self-derisively. “I don’t even know what I’d do with my life, if he didn’t decide everything for me. I don’t know what I… want…” he trailed off, looking at thin hands he very much wanted. He swallowed. What would Klaus Wulfenbach make of Tarvek, son of Aaronev? Would he allow him in Gil’s life?

“Gil?”

As a romantic interest? As a friend? Even as a barista? What would his father grant, and what would he take away? The thought set Gil’s teeth on edge. He’d handed over his future without a second thought, mostly because no one had ever told him it was his to have. But this – this relationship, whatever it was – this was his.

“Gil, are you alright?”

Gil grinned at Tarvek, his chest too tight for all the feelings competing for space inside it. “Fine. I’m fine. It looks like there are things I want, after all.”

The look on Tarvek’s face made Gil want to kiss him so badly it hurt. He couldn’t, not yet. He had to be sure, to know he could go through with it and stand up to his father. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.

“Let’s drink to that, then,” Tarvek said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Gil raised his glass. Merry Christmas.”

* * *

Tarvek didn’t open on Christmas day, enjoying the rare opportunity to stay in bed with a book instead. He only stood up for breakfast and a cup of tea, then crawled back under the blanket with his novel. Reading, at least, was getting in the way of the obsessive daydreaming he was definitely not going to indulge in.

His phone chimed.

_so did u make out?_

Tarvek stared at Violetta’s text in silent horror. Serve him well for thinking some members of his family could be redeemed. They were all out to get him, one way or another.

_No. We had a pleasant evening, thank you very much._

The answer swiftly showed up on his screen.

_omg stop it_

_u r such a moron_

_ur both morons_

_just kiss him already_

_i cant deal with this_

Tarvek let the phone drop between the cushions, where it would be less irritating. Violetta wanted everything to be simple. Gilgamesh Wulfenbach was many things, but simple wasn’t one of them. He obviously liked Tarvek, but that didn’t mean… that didn’t mean things would happen.

Tarvek buried himself under his book for a few more hours. Once he’d finished it, he realized he was hungry. It was well past lunch time. He fried a few eggs and mushrooms and ate quickly while picking his next book – he had decided he wasn’t going to worry about spoons orders or coffee shipments for an entire day, and that meant he had to keep himself distracted.

He was almost dozing off, his book lying across his chest, when the bell rang.

You didn’t grow up a member of the Sturmvoraus family and develop a habit of randomly opening your door to unexpected visitors. Tarvek went to check who was waiting through the peephole.

Gil?

Tarvek opened the door and Gil darted inside, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi! Sorry. You were closed, I don’t have your phone number, and I needed – I wanted – just wanted to tell you,” Gil said. He giggled, sounding both giddy and nervous, then went on “I saw my father.”

 _What did I do?_ Tarvek wondered, suddenly terrified. He knew the magnitude of family break-ups, especially when the people you were breaking up with had no intention to take no for an answer. If Gil hadn’t thought this through, if he was ruining his life because of what Tarvek had told him…

“I told him I wouldn’t specialize in neurology,” Gil went on, his hands flying in the air to punctuate his words. “I told him I wanted to be a surgeon. He said I’m insane. He thinks surgeons are barely better than mechanics and neurology is the future of the entire medicine field, and he can’t possibly fathom what has gotten into me. He’s angry. But he had to leave for one of his sodding meetings, so I won this round, I guess. He’ll try to change my mind, of course.”

“He’ll threaten to stop paying your tuition fees,” Tarvek said, feeling cold, because that was what his father would do.

Gil looked at him, his smile turning into a rueful smirk.

“Oh no he won’t. He knows my mother would pay the bill and beat him up with a stick if he pulled that one, he won’t risk it. And if he tries meddling with medical school directly, well, Colette’s father is the dean and has a lot to say about Father’s budget policies, and I am his favorite student, so. I think I can deal with it.”

Tarvek let out a breath of relief. Gil had thought this through. Klaus Wulfenbach wouldn’t take it lying down, of course, but Gil was going in this fighting. He was radiating strength and confidence, and oh, God why was he so gorgeous, and so close.

So close…

Tarvek met Gil’s eyes, who edged even closer. His cheeks were bright red, his eyes alight with excitement, and Tarvek could have spent a decade or two right there, just watching him. Gil took a deep breath.

“I want to say so many things but Colette said I should shut up because I babble endlessly and say stupid things and then people want to throw me out a window. If I just kiss you, will you want to throw me out a window?”

Tarvek swallowed, his breath short. “There are a number of things I might want to do if you kiss me, none of which include throwing you out a window.”

Gil let out a half-strangled chuckle, slid his hand along Tarvek’s arm. Tarvek grabbed Gil’s shirt with both hands and their lips met. Gil kissed him eagerly, Tarvek holding him close, his hands moving to Gil’s shoulders. He tried not to let the bubble of heat and dizziness take over his brain. He pulled back for breath.

“It will be complicated,” he said.

“Everything is complicated,” Gil replied, grinning. “Not kissing you is complicated. Try not to do something when you think about it all the time. It’s awfully distracting.”

Tarvek honestly tried to be stern at this terrible line, but Gil ignored him and kissed him again, so there wasn’t much point.

“Then, do you,” Tarvek tried, breathing ragged, “do you want to stay for coffee?”

Gil’s answer was mostly inarticulate, as he buried his hands in Tarvek’s hair and his face in Tarvek’s neck. Oh, well. That could pass as a yes, Tarvek supposed. He pulled Gil down with him on the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> The no-sugar-policy coffee shop actually exists. It’s in Nuremberg, Germany. It’s small and doesn’t look like much and it has very good coffee. Which is, let me tell you, not so easy to come by in the area.
> 
> The rant about coffee roasting I didn’t hear there, but it’s also real (well, it’s a loose adaptation of a real conversation). At one point I was an intern in a company that sold Fair Trade coffee. I translated for one of our suppliers who came all the way from Tanzania to try to make us see the error of our ways and stop ruining his coffee beans. Like, we were his customers and he was getting paid anyway, but he found genuinely infuriating what Europeans kept doing to his perfectly good coffee. I never found out if his concerns were taken seriously by the company.


End file.
